


Perfectly Arranged

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Consensual Kink, D/s, Engagement, F/M, Femdom, Kneeling, Light Bondage, Non-Sexual Kink, POV Regency Gentleman, Regency, Regency Era, Regency Romance, Silly young man in love with a clever young woman with a dominant personality, Soft and tender kink, Written for Regency Femdom Week 2020, future fiancé, just a lady controlling her fiancé's spendthrift ways at his eager request, there's not even kissing in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27134743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: She's always liked him, that's true, but she has always considered himunsuitable. If he's truly serious about letting her take control of his wasteful pleasures, she might actually consider letting him marry her.
Relationships: Outspoken Regency Lady/Besotted Regency Gentleman
Comments: 22
Kudos: 61
Collections: Anonymous, Regency Femdom Week 2020





	Perfectly Arranged

“So you wish to marry me?” she said, only granting him a single piercing glance before turning back to her embroidery. “A foolish notion.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but one more glance kept him quiet. He waited, watching while she snipped her thread. She put aside her embroidery frame and finally looked him in the eye.

“My parents will never allow it. You are well on the way of wasting away half your estate.”

He wanted to protest and say it was more like a quarter, really, and some of the fellows at the club were much worse off, but he was distracted by two things. Firstly, he was occupied in watching how the pomona green ribbon in her hair swayed as she stood. Secondly, she had not actually said she did not wish to marry him.

“I can be better,” he said, tearing his eyes away from the dangling ribbon that made him want to bat at it like a playful kitten, “I can improve, if you consent to marry me.”

He tried to stand up straighter. Her posture was always impeccable. He knew that ladies’ undergarments promoted such things, but she always held herself like a Queen among peasants. It was one of the things that made people call her cold. It was one of the many things that made him fall in love with her.

The room was so silent that the rustling of her petticoat seemed abruptly intrusive. She took another step closer. If he had been less well-bred, he might have described her movement as stalking.

“I do not believe you,” she said, tall and imperious and very close, “you want discipline.”

“Yes,” he said, grateful.

This made her pause. For a moment, she looked puzzled and in that moment she looked like the sweet young lady he knew she never cared to be. Figured muslin and stiff curls around a sweet face could not hide the sharp blade of her resolve. The confusion passed and he found himself dropping his eyes. Looking down at her pretty hands, he could avoid her piercing eyes. But not for long. She raised an elegant hand and tipped his chin up. They were indoors, she wasn’t wearing gloves. She had never been so close.

“Look me in the eye,” she demanded. He did. How could he do otherwise?

“So you want a wife who would control your pleasures and excesses?”

“Yes,” he said without a single thought. “ _Please._ ”

He felt his heart race and his collar felt too tight and on elegant finger kept his chin tipped up so he could only get lost in her eyes and beg silently for her to say yes too.

And then she stepped away, the fire in her eyes abating.

“Very well,” she said agreeably, smoothing down her gown. “The next instance you find yourself in a gaming mood, you will call on me instead.”

He did not know what to do with his hands. He didn’t know where to turn his eyes, now her hands were no longer directing him. But she had told him to look her in the eye, so he did. He wanted to show her he could learn. And she was so very lovely to look at.

“What will you do?” he asked, a bit helplessly. Her lips turned into a little private smile and he felt abruptly like he was being tested.

“I would make you kneel and obey me.”

She said it slowly, as if savouring the words. Then she raised a single elegant brow, as if daring him to object. He did not. He looked down, smoothed down his coat and searched for a word to say that wasn’t ‘please’. He felt the blush bloom on his cheeks. He abruptly recalled that she hadn’t actually agreed to become his wife. With difficulty, he looked away from his gleaming hessians.

“If I do, will you marry me?”

Her cold smile turned a little gentler.

“Yes,” she said sweetly, as if she was one of those simpering maidens who smiled at men instead of coldly dismissing them. “And you may ask Papa for my hand once you have been good for a full month.”

The smile on his face widened.

“I will,” he said, beaming. “I will go immediately!” He bowed, quickly and deeply, and nearly ran towards the door, eager to share his happiness. And then he stopped.

“Only…” he said, one hand on the doorknob. He took a deep breath, thought of her smile, and turned back around. “Only my first thought was to go to the club and buy the fellows a drink so they could share in my happiness.” He smiled a bit sheepishly. “I’m very happy, you know.”

The blush still had not left his face. He thought she might be hiding a smile behind her raised hand.

“Well, we can’t have that,” she spoke archly, when she had visibly regained commanded of her expression.

“Come here.”

He followed her command immediately, enthusiastically. He stopped a pace before her, eager and uncertain. She fitted her soft palm against his cheek.

“I have letters to write, so I cannot indulge you overmuch.”

Daringly, he pushed his hand a little more into her hand. Her thumb caressed his cheekbone softly before it withdrew.

“Kneel,” she said, soft as a whisper and commanding as steel. He dropped to his knees without a single thought for his breeches or boots. Looking up at her felt right. He wondered if he might be allowed to press his head against her skirts and rest for a while.

With elegant motions, she freed the dangling green ribbon from her hair.

“I won’t bore you with that old adage about idle hands,” she said with a smile, gathering up his hands in hers. He watched with widening eyes as she tied the silk around his wrists.

“You will kneel here, and I will make sure you cannot be anything but good.”

She turned to her writing desk.

“Now, be quiet, I must write to my friends that I am to be married.”

She sat down and turned to her parchment and he felt an immediate sense of desperation.

“Please,” he said, before he knew what he wanted to say or remembered he was told to be quiet.

She turned her head to look back at him, fully aware how elegant she looked. She had an admirable silhouette; he knew she knew that.

“What is it?” she asked with a mild note of disapproval. He sat up straighter.

“Please,” he said softly, “please, my hands, can you?” He held up his hands to her, bound with a tight knot and a lavish bow. He shuffled a little closer on his knees. She was looking down on him, but still seemed so far. Abruptly, he knew what he wanted.

“Please, could you perhaps. My hands, to your sash?” Something twinkled in her eyes and she got that satisfied look that made her seem like a contented monarch surveying her treasury.

“I see,” she said and lifted his hands by the ribbon. And she did see, because next she undid the bow and with a few quick movements adjusted the knot so there was a long tail left over. She tied it around her sash with a quick tight knot. He shivered slightly. To kneel next to her chair, tied to her sash like a key on a chatelaïne, just one of her possessions, kept close on her person. She must have seen something in his eyes, because she smiled that sweet, sharp smile again.

“You will kneel at my feet and be quiet as I write and if you are very good, you may rest your head against me.”

He did not know whether he was being very good yet, but she put her hand on his collar and pushed. He let himself be moved until he was curled around her, head cradled in her lap and hands bound. He whispered his thanks in her skirts, but could not see if she heard. He let his eyes fall closed. The world narrowed down to her hand in his hair and the scratching of her pen on the paper.

**Author's Note:**

> After seeing the announcement of the Regency Femdom Week, I woke up with this entire story in my head. So here, you get to read it too.
> 
> Thanks to the kind friend who read this for me when I wasn't certain I wanted other eyes to see it.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought! Regency romance is my favourite to write and it was really fun to write it with this purpose in mind.


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